


Through The Shadows

by mrhd



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Man: Director of SHIELD, M/M, Post-Civil War (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23623504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhd/pseuds/mrhd
Summary: Tony Stark, newly minted Director of SHIELD and Bucky Barnes, the new Captain America, find solace in each other.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 105
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	Through The Shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/gifts).



> There is some medical care involving descriptions of wound and blood.
> 
> Mentions of canonical character death (Steve's).

Tony sighs and drops his head into his hands, rubbing his temples. The Extremis makes it easier to do work, almost instantaneous, but it also makes it easier for people to contact him. And apparently a lot of people want to get in touch with the Director of SHIELD.

It’s past nine at night now, and things have finally started to slow down. Tony’s just considering either crawling into his bed or disappearing into his workshop for the rest of the night, when he hears the thud of combat boots in the doorway to his office.

He sighs and lifts his head to see the Winter Soldier standing in the doorway. No, he’s not the Winter Soldier anymore, he’s got the shield strapped to his arm. He’s Captain America now. Bucky Barnes is Captain America now because Steve is…

Tony shakes his head. “Cap-Captain,” he says, stumbling over the nickname. Steve’s nickname.

The new Captain America steps into Tony’s office, closing the door behind him.

“Can I help you?” Tony prompts.

If it had been Steve…Steve would have pulled his cowl back, making his blond hair stand up everywhere and grinned at him. Would have invited Tony out for dinner, would have made things warm and easy.

But Steve is dead, and Barnes just stands there. “We need to talk,” he says flatly.

Tony raises his eyebrow. “Breaking up with me already?”

“Not here,” Barnes says.

“Yeah, the fluorescent lighting really kills the atmosphere.”

“Tomorrow night,” Barnes continues. “There’s a warehouse.” He flicks a piece of paper neatly onto Tony’s desk. “Don’t read that here.”

“Very hush-hush spy stuff for Captain America,” Tony says pointedly.

“But not for the Director of SHIELD,” Barnes returns, before he turns on his heel and leaves.

* * *

Tony considers not going to the warehouse. He’s the Director of SHIELD and he runs one of the largest companies in the world. He has plenty to do already, even this late at night. Besides, it’s not like there’s any love lost between him and the Winter Soldier. Nowadays his armor is always on hand, but it would be stupid to underestimate Barnes.

Extremis’ heat sensors let him know that Barnes is already in the warehouse when Tony approaches. Tony had half-expected him to come in dramatically late, but though he supposes that’s more his style than Barnes’, he’s himself is arriving just on time.

“Stark,” Barnes says from the shadows once Tony enters and shuts the door behind him. He’s dressed down for the occasion, all black, no flash of Captain America at all. Even his arm is covered in a tight sleeve and glove.

So Tony greets him with, “Winter Soldier.”

Barnes pushes off the wall and approaches him. He moves like a predator approaching his prey, but Tony doesn’t flinch. He gets the feeling that Barnes is trying to intimidate him, or at least, remind Tony of what he’s capable of, but Tony has spent his whole adult life surrounded by people who are stronger and more agile than him.

“You called this meeting,” Tony says when Barnes still doesn’t speak. “Were you going to tell me something or just stand in the corner and brood?”

“All good spies brood,” Barnes says. In the dim light filtering in through the dirty windows, Tony can just barely make out the quirk of Barnes lips.

“Brooding aside, I had to sneak away from a great many people to get here you know,” Tony says. “Some of them are already calling me.” It’s not a lie. In the last five minutes he’s received five flagged emails and three phone calls that he’d had Extremis send straight to voicemail.

“I can make this quick,” Barnes offers, practically flashing his teeth.

“Please.”

“You’re not happy with this arrangement,” Barnes says bluntly. “You don’t like being Director of SHIELD, and you don’t like me being Captain America. I don’t like it either. Fury should still be Director, and Steve should still be Captain America. But they’re gone, and people are stuck with us. Let’s make it easier for each other.”

“How?” Tony asks, not bothering to argue. Barnes is right, anyways.

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing. Some of it’s under the table. When it’s under the table I won’t wear SHIELD gear or bring the shield.”

“Like tonight.”

Barnes inclines his head. “I won’t tell you anything you shouldn’t know. I’ll tell you what you should. Feel free to send me out as you see fit, but if I’m not in contact, there’s a reason.”

“What do I get out of this?” Tony asks.

“Me, out of your hair. Mostly. Your hands out of the dirtiest work. The knowledge network I’m a part of. You should know how much that’s worth.”

Tony inclines his head right back. “Sounds like a good deal, Soldier.”

Barnes nods. “See you later, Stark. Got something working.”

* * *

Rubbing his temples is quickly becoming a new habit for Tony. It only takes a few hours of SHIELD underlings who are apparently incapable of getting anything done without a direct order, along with the constant phone calls that are now put through directly to his brain via the Extremis before he wants to either quit or kill someone.

He’s rich, and smart. He has resources. He could get away and hide, he really could.

Within the cacophony of his brain, a small trespasser alert goes off. Tony would ignore it – SHIELD is the base of operations of some of the world’s elite spies, it’s no surprise they go places they’re not supposed to – except that the alert disappears before Tony’s dismissed it.

Which means it’s someone with codes and access to the security system.

Tony sighs and catches himself rubbing his temples again. _This_ he should check out. If someone’s gotten ahold of even one of their codes, well, a whole pile of shit is waiting for all of them. He pulls up the camera feed, his armor already in the back of his head, when he catches sight of the Winter Soldier and Agent Thirteen.

He sighs again and sits back down, letting the underarmor reabsorb into his bones. Really, it would be nice if Fury’s kids could follow protocol for just one day. Tracking them through the cameras, it looks like they’re headed for his office. Well, at least reporting back after a mission, even if it wasn’t a mission they were assigned or supposed to be on, could be considered progress.

They don’t bother knocking, however, striding into Tony’s office without even a salute or proper posture.

“Agents?” Tony says, raising an eyebrow.

“Crossbones is dead,” Barnes says.

“Interesting. Because as far as I know he’s alive.”

“The news ought to be updated by morning,” Carter offers, a little smile on her face.

“I’m sure he died tragically, peacefully, unexpectedly in his sleep.”

“One of those things is true,” Carter offers.

Tony rubs his temple. This is going to be a headache to deal with that’s for sure. People will look at him with interest, both as the Director of SHIELD and as Tony Stark. Crossbones killed Steve Rogers after all, and depending who you asked, finished what he’d started, stolen his kill, or killed his best friend.

“He doesn’t look pleased,” Carter says to Barnes.

“Should we have brought you his head?”

“What do I need with a head?” Tony snaps. He’s had quite enough of dead bodies, thank you. “I trust in your skillset.”

Barnes grins at that. “You’re welcome then,” he says.

“Goodnight, sir,” Carter says, giving him a messy salute as they both leave.

Tony sighs one more time and puts his head on his desk.

It is…somewhat of a relief to know that Steve’s killer is dead. But, well, it hadn’t exactly been Crossbones’ fault now, had it.

* * *

The role of Director of SHIELD does not get any better over time. Tony’s not exactly unused to disappointing people, but, well, every fire he puts out seems to spawn six new ones, and it’s like SHIELD agents and his own employees have lost the ability to do anything without speaking to him personally first.

The fact that Barnes tends to go off without a word to anyone and come back with a job already completed quickly starts to become a blessing, and their biweekly midnight warehouse meetings something to look forward to.

“Took care of some Latverians crossing the border for you,” Barnes says, handing Tony a sheet and a handful of robot guts. “Seemed like new tech, thought you might wanna look at it.”

Tony takes them both, tucking the sheet under his arm to inspect the robot parts. It looks like the motherboard and the connected components of a Doombot; at least Barnes hadn’t grabbed him something totally useless. He must know something about robotics, and Tony quickly reassesses his opinion of him. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll look into it tonight.”

“It’s past midnight,” Barnes says.

Tony raises an eyebrow. Barnes isn’t one to waste words or say things without a point.

“Don’t you start SHIELD operations at o’six-hundred hours sharp?”

“Yep.”

“When do you sleep?”

“When I can,” Tony says, tone sharper than he means to be. For some reason the question puts him on the defensive; he knows exactly how much sleep he needs to do all his jobs. He can take care of himself. Steve and Pepper had always said he couldn’t, but neither of them are here now. He doesn’t need Barnes filling their mother hen shoes.

Barnes is frowning, but he doesn’t say anything further.

“That all?” Tony prompts.

“Yeah, get some sleep, Stark,” Barnes says, basically melting into the shadows and disappearing into the night.

Tony sighs. Spies.

* * *

Tony’s head pounds. He’s getting to the point now that the lack of sleep is started to catch up to him, and Extremis has reached its limit to compensate. The solution is obvious, but every time he closes his eyes and starts to drift off he sees Steve. Sees him looming over him with the shield. Sees him bleeding out, red blood vibrant against courthouse marble. Sees his corpse, pale and still under the harsh fluorescent morgue lighting. He knows from experience that his body will eventually just collapse, and hopefully then he won’t dream.

“You look like shit.”

Tony shoots off the desk to sit straight in his chair, adrenaline pumping, the armor creeping out from under his skin. But it’s just Barnes, leaning against the door to Tony’s office. “What do you need?” Tony sighs, the adrenaline fading and leaving a stronger headache in its wake.

“Have you slept at all?” Barnes asks.

“In my life? Obviously.”

“Recently.”

“I’m fine.”

“You know spies are trained to detect lies.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Why are you bothering me?”

“I came to update you, but now I think I’m going to take you to bed.”

Tony laughs weakly. “Usually a man buys me dinner first.”

Barnes mouth quirks into a small smile. “Dinner after,” he says. “Come on, Stark.”

“No thanks.”

His mouth flattens again. “I will knock you out if I have to.”

Tony hesitates. Blunt force trauma to his head ought to shut up his brain.

“Oh, fuck, come on, I’m not actually gonna give you a concussion just because you’re having nightmares.”

“Why do you think I’m having nightmares?” Tony snaps.

“Uh, because why else wouldn’t you be sleeping?” Barnes says, like it’s obvious.

It just annoys Tony more. “I have lots to do,” he says.

“Yeah, you looked real busy just now, staring into space,” Barnes drawls. “Now get up, before I carry you to bed.”

“You really ought to woo me first,” Tony says, even as Barnes strides into the office and hauls him to his feet.

“You can flirt with me after you’ve had at least twelve hours of sleep,” Barnes says.

“That’s too much,” Tony protests.

Barnes shoves him in the direction of the attached bedroom. He’s as pushy as Pepper and Steve used to be. It would be nicer if the memory of failing them both didn’t hurt so much.

“And what if Norman Osborn tries to take over the world while I’m sleeping? Or Doom?”

“I’ll kill them for you,” Barnes says with a shrug. “Now, sleep.”

With a final shove that definitely has the enhanced strength of his arm behind it, Barnes shoves him into the little room. While Tony’s stumbling in Barnes shuts the door with a solid _thunk_ that Tony can assume is him putting his weight against it, barricading Tony inside.

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Tony calls through the door. “You should know to treat your superiors better.”

Barnes doesn’t say anything, just drums his metal fingers against the door with a _thump thump thump_.

Oddly enough, it matches the pounding in Tony’s head when he lays down.

Tony does sleep for twelve hours. In fact he sleeps for fourteen, and he wakes up disoriented and then furious at Barnes for letting it happen.

He yanks the door open and stomp out, intending to give Barnes a piece of his mind, but he greeted with a large cup of coffee shoved under his nose.

He takes it on reflex and drinks it. Black and strong, just how he likes it.

“You should check who’s offering you food and drink before you take it,” Barnes says from beyond the coffee cup. “It could be poisoned.”

“You’ve already tried to kill me by letting me sleep,” Tony says. “Do I still have a company? Do you still work for SHIELD or is the Helicarrier about to be overtaken by Doombots?”

“You still have a company,” Barnes assures him. “And legions of spies work best when no one is micromanaging them.”

Tony glares as he walks to his desk, where he pauses, staring at the bagel sitting on top of his papers. “Is the bagel poisoned?” he asks.

“Don’t be a dick,” Barnes says, sounding weirdly defensive. When Tony looks up at him, he has his arms crossed and he isn’t quite making eye contact.

Interesting.

Tony takes a bite of the bagel. It’s _good_. Definitely not the offensively plain stuff the Helicarrier mess serves.

“It’s from a deli in Brooklyn St-I found once,” Bucky says, as if he can read minds. “I know a promised you dinner, but this will have to do for now.”

Purposely not thinking about his slip up Tony takes another bite of the bagel and washes it down with the coffee, vaguely wondering how Barnes knows how he likes his coffee and his bagels. “Thank you,” he says awkwardly.

Barnes shifts from his position on the wall and nods. “See you, Stark,” he says, before he leaves Tony to his breakfast.

Oddly enough, Tony finds himself kind of wishing that he’d stayed.

* * *

Tony makes an effort after that to go back to the tower and sleep every few days, at least so he’s not ambushed by a super soldier spy again. He’d never admit it outside his own head, but his sleep schedule does start to improve, bit by bit. Even in the comfort of his head he attributes it to his very expensive mattress, the highest quality and sheets to match. Helicarrier bunks are no competition.

Nothing quiets the Extremis all the way though, and Tony jerks out of a rare deep sleep when one of his many perimeter alarms goes off. He has them all over the Tower, the roof, the sides of the building, each floor, and outside on the ground. It’s a ground one that’s been triggered, and Tony calls up the security feed, hoping against hope that the sensors have just mistaken a large squirrel or a particularly fat rat for a threat. It’s New York, it’s not impossible.

But what he sees is a person, leaning on a tree for support.

They shove off the tree and onto the side of the building, triggering a second alarm as they stumble towards one of the side entrances.

Tony turns on the lights.

The person flinches in the sudden brightness and tries to find a shadow to duck into, but Tony’s already seen Barnes’ face.

“Shit,” he says, getting out of bed and calling the elevator as he pulls on one of his robes.

Barnes is still slumped by the entrance when Tony gets down, head back against the side of the building.

“Barnes?” Tony says. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

If Barnes were any less trained, Tony thinks he would have actually startled. “Heh,” he says. “Caught me.”

Tony frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”

Barnes grunts. “Took a knife to the thigh. Think it was laced with some kind of numbing agent; my left leg isn’t working properly.”

Tony crouches down and takes Barnes’ arm, throwing it over his shoulder. “Okay, up we go, I’ve got to get you inside,” he says.

Barnes plants his feet and pushes up, listing heavily. Tony manages to catches him, and together they hobble inside. “Try not to bleed all over my lobby,” Tony tells Barnes as he drags him to the private elevator that will take up straight up to the penthouse.

“Hmph, like you’re the one who cleans this place,” Barnes says.

“No, but I have to tip them extra to keep quiet about blood,” Tony responds, hauling Barnes into the elevator.

Barnes huffs and leans heavier against Tony once they’re inside, pressing against his side. He’s solid and warm. Tony tries very hard not to think about how it used to be Steve who would lean on him like this, when he was injured or just exhausted. Instead he tries to focus on how Barnes is slighter, lighter, how the right arm resting lightly across Tony’s torso is a cool counterpoint to the rest of his warmth.

Thankfully, Tony’s elevator is fast, and he’s able to pull away slightly under the guise of tugging Barnes along again.

Barnes follows, without even something snarky, almost too complacent, and Tony is glad he can hear Barnes breath near his ear, feel his chest expanding.

There’s a first aid room in the tower, and Tony takes Barnes there, directing him to sit once they get inside.

Barnes hesitates, then uses his good leg and his arms to swing himself up onto the exam table.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Show off,” he accuses. “You could have just sat in a chair.”

Barnes just huffs at him.

“And take your pants off,” Tony instructs, getting gloves and antiseptic ready. Stitches too, in case Barnes is lying about the severity of his wound.

“Really oughta buy a fella dinner first,” Barnes says, the snark somewhat undercut by the breathiness of his voice.

“It’s almost four in the morning,” Tony points out. “It’s breakfast at this point.”

Barnes had listened to him though, letting his pants pool around his combat boots so Tony can lean close to his thigh and inspect the wound. He’s pleased to noticed Barnes hadn’t been lying; while there’s very obviously a cut, it looks shallow, and the mess of blood surrounding it is mostly dried. The most concerning part is the little lines of red spiderwebbing out from the wound.

“I don’t think was a numbing agent,” Tony says, running his fingers down one of the lines. “I think it was poison.”

“Great,” Barnes says, full of false cheer as he gives Tony a thumbs up and flops back on the table.

Tony snorts. “I’m not gonna suck it out for you.”

“Don’t need to. I don’t think much of it got into my bloodstream.”

Tony frowns at that. “I’ll wash what I can,” he says, grabbing the saline rinse and disinfectant. Barnes is quiet and still while he works, as if he really doesn’t feel it or as though it doesn’t bother him at all. Once again, Tony finds himself trying to listen to Barnes’ inhalations, peeking up to watch his chest rise and fall, making sure the poison isn’t working its way through his system.

But it doesn’t seem to be. Barnes’ breathing is deep and even, almost meditative. And the lines appear to have stopped spreading a few inches above his knee and just below where his leg meets groin. Tony is glad to note that Barnes wears tight black underwear under his combat uniform. Tony knows from years of experience that most superheroes goes commando, and he’s not sure he’s emotionally stable enough to handle a naked Captain America right now, even one with darker features and a slimmer build.

The blood wipes away easily enough and Tony’s able to bandage Barnes’ wound fairly quickly. He looks up when he’s done to find Barnes still reclining, his right arm thrown over his eyes to block out the harsh lights of the room.

“All done,” Tony tells him, patting higher up, around Barnes’ waist, to make sure he feels it.

“Thanks,” Barnes says, and it sounds warm and sincere. He sits up lazily.

“Stay here the night,” Tony offers. “There’s plenty of guest rooms. Take your pick. The third room on your left out of this floor should have spare pants in your size.”

That they used to belong to various Avengers, and have since been cleaned out and made impersonal by Jarvis goes without saying.

Barnes nods, so Tony nods back and stands to head back his own bed. He probably won’t sleep again, but he’s well practiced at doing work while trying to will his body into sleep.

“Hey,” Barnes says when Tony reaches the door.

Tony turns around to look at him.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

Tony doesn’t manage to sleep, but he does manage to doze lightly for almost an hour before his alarm goes off. He shuts it off with no more than a thought and gets dressed in the tight SHIELD uniform. It fits him fine, technically, but he never feels at home in it, can’t see it as a suit of armor no matter how hard he tries.

He goes to his kitchen to make a pot of not-the-mess-hall-garbage coffee - another perk of coming home to sleep every once in a while – and stops in the doorway. Barnes is standing at the stove, wearing a pair of pajama pants that were Tony’s once, in grad school, scrambling eggs.

“Good morning?”

Barnes turns around there’s actually a small smile on his face when he sees Tony. “Good morning,” he returns easily.

“You’re making eggs.”

“I see why everyone says you’re a genius.”

Tony glares at the back of his head and ignores him, making a beeline for the coffee pot.

It’s already brewed.

He spins around to look at the side of Barnes’ face. “Coffee too?”

Barnes nods, sprinkling salt into the eggs. “And toast.”

“Why the feast?” Tony asks, leaning back against the counter.

Barnes actually pauses at that. Tony doesn’t know if he’s calculating the best answer or just uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “Last night. You didn’t have to do any of that.”

“You already said ‘thank you’,” Tony points out.

Barnes shrugs. “My mom always taught me that food can say more than words.”

Tony pauses as well, thinking. Barnes seems surprised and grateful for his first aid and his shelter, but still, he had come to Tony’s place in the first place. Why would he do that if he wasn’t sure of a warm welcome. Tony knows he must have hidey holes, better hidden, more secure ones, if he was trying to disappear. “You came to me,” he says eventually.

Barnes nods.

“Why?” Tony prompts.

“Too injured to make it to the Helicarrier,” Barnes says.

Ah. A practical reason. The tower is decently secure and likely to have someone, even if that someone isn’t Tony, around at all hours. Tony ignores how the explanation makes him feel a twinge of disappointment.

“And because I trust you,” Barnes adds after some awkward silence. “I was hoping you took my advice about going home and I was hoping you were here and would help me.”

“Of course I would,” Tony says, his voice quiet. Whatever this is between them right now feels fragile, like a wrong word might shatter it.

“No ‘of course’ about it,” Barnes says. ”Lots of people wouldn’t. _You_ might not have, just a few months ago.”

“I would have,” Tony says. “But I know what you mean.” Tony’s help a few months ago would have been quick and perfunctory. There would have been no offer of pajamas, no breakfast the next morning.

Barnes nods once, then, quick and smooth, he turns and is Tony’s space.

“Why did you help me?” he asks. “You know I could have patched myself up.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Tony says.

Barnes keeps staring at him, eyes dark and intense.

“I wanted to,” Tony admits to his stare and then Barnes is kissing him.

It takes Tony’s brain a second to catch up, and when it does, he’s kissing back, gripping at Barnes arm and shoulder, his shoulder all warm, firm muscle and arm cold, firm metal. The contrast goes to Tony’s brain, making it swim, and he wonders if Barnes has enough control to jerk off with his prosthetic.

He doesn’t know how long they stay pressed against the counter like that. Long enough that the lip starts to dig into the small of Tony’s back, long enough that they’re both half-hard where their hips are pressed together. Long enough that Tony can smell eggs.

“Shit, the eggs,” Barnes says, breaking away and lunging for the stove, lifting the skillet of eggs off the heat and turning it down. “They’re not too burnt,” he muses, looking at them. “Should be edible.”

Tony steps into his space and takes the pan from him, putting it on the counter. “Do you really want to talk about eggs right now, Barnes?” he asks, giving him his best flirtatious look, through his eyelashes.

“Call me Bucky,” Bucky Barnes says, leaning back in to kiss Tony Stark.

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of those fics that went in a totally different direction than originally intended. But it was a real joy to work on, and something that I think I ended up really proud of.
> 
> This was my first go at writing Bucky, and it was a great exercise and I grew quite fond of him!
> 
> Wren was wonderful to work with, thanks for giving me this opportunity!


End file.
